


Kids of the burning morning

by reddening_heart



Category: Bleach
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-26
Updated: 2017-09-26
Packaged: 2019-01-05 18:04:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12194967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reddening_heart/pseuds/reddening_heart
Summary: There’s no time for bitterness, and busy fathers, and heartbreaks. Uryuu settles with what he has. Pauses on the rooftop. Jam sessions. Days at the beach.





	Kids of the burning morning

**Author's Note:**

> AU based off the brilliant anime "Kids on the slope". (Bleach can't relate)

 

> _SWING. Colloquially, a word used to describe the sense of propulsive rhythmic "feel" or "groove" created by the musical interaction between the performers, especially when the music creates a "visceral response" such as feet-tapping or head-nodding (see pulse)._

 

 

At precisely 7:00 am, Ishida Uryuu wakes up. Begrudgingly, he leaves his bed and starts to get ready for his third first day of school of the year. Under the icy water of the shower, he can vaguely hear his father’s frantic footsteps downstairs.

“Uryuu, I’m leaving now”, echoes through the walls. “Don’t wait for me for dinner.”

A slamming door and there he is, alone in a new house that still smells of fresh paint, lingering dust and cardboards. He sighs, but picks up his pace before he can let anything get under his skin. Grey blazer, check. Satchel, check. Where did his glasses go again? You see, as it is, he is seventeen (sometimes feels much, much older) and it’s more than enough to get over the discrepancies that life can throw here and there. Being tired of moving, tired of expecting, it all amounts to small trivialities, he muses. So, he gets dressed, grabs a piece of bread and heads to the door.

The sky is heavy with dark clouds. This house must be the most boring he has ever lived in so far, he observes as he exits. What with its immaculate white walls, dark tiles and cold kitchen floor, a perfect match for his fancy father. Still, the piano in the living room is a nice perk. And though he fears he has rusted up (having not practiced in nearly six months), it’s the image of a dark grand piano that appears when he closes his eyes; an anchor in this quiet, new town.

 

 -

 Standing still in front of the class 3-B of Karakura High, he keeps his gaze straight as his teacher introduces him.

“This is Ishida Uryuu-san, who’s joining us straight from Tokyo today.” A wave of whispers travels the room. “It seems he was at the top of his class at his previous school. I hope you’ll follow his lead and study just as hard”.

He bows and awkwardly makes his way to the back of the class through another wave of chatters and unreserved glares. If anything, he is used to this routine. It just doesn’t make it any less tiring. As he moves, he catches a student’s eyes, a redhead girl who looks at him curiously. He stares back, equally intrigued by her bright, impossibly ginger hair. She can’t possibly Japanese, can she? Hair dye? “Not the most tasteful choice of colour then”, he shrugs before breaking the contact and settling on his desk.

Much to his horror, his neighbour student latches into him as soon as the lunch break rings. No rest for the wicked.

“I’m Asano Keigo! Nice to meet you! You’re from Tokyo, right, Ishida-san? That’s so, so cool. You must be pretty bummed to move to a small boring town like Karakura.”

“I don’t mind actually,” he replies politely. But Asano-san is barely listening, already in too deep in a restless monologue.

 “Man, I am so glad to have you here! I’ve been wanting to distance myself from these peasants for a while now. They’re all so backward, you have no idea! Especially that guy sitting on my left! A real cave man… By the way, an advice”, his voice gets low, “avoid meeting his eyes at all costs… At all costs, you hear me? If he zooms in on you you’re going to be in trouble… But anyways! You do look like a super rich kid. Not like it can bother you! I bet back in Tokyo you had the latest gadgets and expensive clothes! And girls, man… Tokyo girls are the best man! They’re so cute and confident…”

His laugh is full and hearty. Uryuu tries not to roll his eyes but really, he just wants to get it over and be home already.

“I’m sorry to interrupt –”

A saving power finally hears his prayers and frees him from the black hole of grotesque he is getting dragged into feet first, through the heavenly intervention of the same redhead girl he has noticed earlier. Now he can also see that, despite his first impression, she is actually kind of cute, with her gentle smile and unusual aura. As a student delegate, Inoue Orihime - she shyly presents herself – was asked to give him a tour of the school, she explains; and if that’s what it takes to get away from his hyper classmate, Uryuu will take what he can.

(Accessorily, she really is cute, okay?)

How regrettable then that, as it turns out, her friendly presence is not enough for him to feel at ease in this new environment. Everywhere they go, from the grey concrete of the courtyard to the pristine and bright hallways, he sticks out like a sore thumb and people stare, and stare, and whisper, and –

It’s been a long day already and the unsettled feeling in his guts is growing harsher; he needs to get out, quick.

Uryuu apologizes curtly and dashes to the roof. He thinks he can hear the thunder rumbling but frankly could not care less. He gets to the top and opens the door to a downpour. Without hesitation, he steps outside, intent on getting to the edge, but trips on _something_ and falls flat.

“The fuck you think you’re doing?”

Long legs – one of which he suspects to be the culprit - on a tall shadow loom over him. As Uryuu gets up, he faces a tall man with bright, spiky orange hair and a mean stare. “Yakuza. I’m screwed”, he thinks right away. But by now he’s had to deal with stares, and a joke, and cute girls; a bully would be an excessive addition to this grand high school formula. Besides, the orange-haired boy is still silent and looks more annoyed and inquisitive than murderous, so Uryuu mumbles: “Sorry. Just need the fresh air. Will get down in a minute” before rushing to the edge, drenched in rain in a matter of seconds. For a moment, the boy – a student, Uryuu finally notices the uniform matching his – just stares at him, gaze dark. Then he hears him groan “oh, fuck, whatever”. In an instant, he’s standing by his side.

“Might as well join in”.

 

 -

The yakuza, it turns out, is Kurosaki Ichigo, a crazy student who decided to steal the keys to the roof at the start of the school year, effectively monopolizing it. Accessorily, he’s also the student sitting next to him in class; he used to sit on Asano Keigo’s left, but decided to switch desks for whatever “just because” is supposed to mean. If anything, Keigo is relieved, Uryuu unimpressed.

They barely talk in class, barely acknowledge each other when they meet in the morning. But every single break, Uryuu will find him on the roof, leaning against a wall. After their first awkward encounter (which ended up with both catching a cold, a hell lot of yelling and passing out at the Nurse Office), an unspoken agreement was made and Uryuu has somehow been granted access to Kurosaki’s self-proclaimed spot. In truth, he finds this habit of territory marking quite primitive. But if he doesn’t have to fight his way to get there and can actually sit and enjoy the silence, who’s going to complain? (Not that he would be afraid of getting his ass beaten off to get there anyway, he scoffs, of course not. He just knows when the trouble is not worth it…) So, this is how they found themselves coexisting on the roof.

But after two weeks, as they quietly eat their lunch, Uryuu snaps and breaks the habit.

“Okay I had it. This is just insane.”

For a second, Kurosaki’s eyes grow wide.

“It’s been a week and I swear all I’ve ever seen you eat is sweets. Yesterday it was a chocolate cake. The day before you had a freaking croissant. Today you’re not even bothering for God’s sake. Chocolate bars? Really?”

“Calm down and let me live, father dear”, Ichigo snaps back with solemnity, before taking a major bite. His eyes are gleaming.

“That’s it. We swap. Now.”

Clearly amused, Ichigo fakes a frown.

“You’re eating fish. Not really digging that.”

“You don’t like fish? Are you even Japanese?”

The slight amusement on Kurosaki’s face instantly disappear, his shoulders tense. “Fuck”, Uryuu curses himself, “fuck fuck fuck”. If he has learnt anything in the short amount of time they’ve spent together, it’s that Kurosaki’s lineage is a touchy subject. Less than twenty years ago, Karakura used to house one of the biggest US military base in the country; outdated dispositions and petty resentments creep under the surface, if Kurosaki’s recurring fights are any indication.

“Anyways,” he almost yelps, “the important thing is that thinking of the state your liver is in triggers me. So shut up and swap Kurosaki!”

Slowly, his scowl softens.

“You’re a serious freak, Ishida. An anal freak”, he remarks but complies. After a short pause, he starts fidgeting. “Look” he explains, hand rubbing his neck, “my two sisters got sick, okay? I kinda had more to think about than lunchboxes and shit. I just buy whatever there is on that vending machine downstairs. Now quit judging me and let me live for God’s sake!”

But he doesn’t look angry, and gulps down whatever was left in Uryuu’s lunchbox. 

 

-

Much to his dismay, this odd episode sets a precedent. Indeed, Kurosaki starts asking questions about him, particularly about his life in Tokyo: the weather, the music, the people. At first, Uryuu is reluctant to answer – he enjoyed these peaceful and noiseless sessions, why upset this perfectly satisfactory balance? But Kurosaki is eager and keeps on questioning him so eventually, he gives in.

The status quo is furthermore challenged by the frequent stops of Inoue-san and her grumpy friend (Awanara? Arizawa-san?). “Childhood friends”, Ichigo had explained curtly, articulate as he is. They come by to chat a bit with Kurosaki and joke around (or at least Uryuu is pretty sure that this is “Tacchan”’s idea of teasing when she wrestles with Kurosaki), and they exchange a word or two with him as well.

Inoue-san is especially nice to him - almost improbably so -, always asking about his recent designs at the handicrafts club. (Ichigo never fails to sneer at that, but he’s a fool and water is wet). Sometimes, he’s even distracted enough to let his thoughts stray and wonder if someone has ever been quite that nice to him. Of course, he snaps out of it almost just as soon.

“You’re seriously so skilled Ishida-kun! A real master of sewing!” Uryuu blushes faintly. “Do you have any other talents?” she asks one day.

“Erm, not really, no. I’m really nothing special…”

Inoue-san’s grey eyes grow huge in her face as she scowls (tentatively, at least) at him.

“Erm, I like playing piano I guess?”

She cheers excitedly. He finds himself liking how her smile reaches her eyes. How they crinkle ever so slightly.

“You’re a musician? That’s awesome! You should definitely come to our rehearsals then, right, Tacchan? We have a band and all!”

“We?”, he repeats suspiciously. Kurosaki growls at the back:

“Knock it off Inoue. This guy’s probably a stuck up classical guy or whatever. He’s a total freak. Zero swing in him.”

“I beg your pardon?”  Uryuu protests loudly. “What does that even mean?”

 

-

“A jazz band in the twenty-first century, how revolutionary”, Uryuu scorns.

“Wonderful input, as expected, Ishida”, Kurosaki snarls back. “Now, let the grown-ups play.”

They stand in Arisawa-san’s basement-improvised-studio, right under her family’s vintage music shop. It’s a tiny room, simple and poorly lit, but surprisingly big enough to house a piano. They started to play together two years ago, Inoue-san explains; while she lends her vocals (and occasionally play the triangle, she underlines enthusiastically enough), Kurosaki is on the bass and Arisawa-san on the drums.

“Sorry about the room, Ishida, but that’s all we have”, Arisawa-san says.

His cheeks turn red and he vigorously shakes his head.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for, Arisawa-san! I’m the one who should apologize for intruding...Besides,” he stops in front of the piano, “this is one very fine piece”. He grazes the keys. A 1992 STEINWAY & SONS K-52 upright, almost a rarity in the country. Its mahogany brown has lost a bit of its shine but its high quality remains undeniable. She grins, teeth sharp and eyes full of mischief:

“Right? Pops found it during a trip in Nagoya five years ago. Oh, by the way, Ishida: drop the honorifics, will you? It creeps me out, like I’m my mother or something…”

Uryuu can feel the heat on his neck and the red on his ears. There’s something about Arisawa-san – no, Arisawa’s natural friendliness that unravels something in him. In fact, there’s something about the way Kurosaki and Inoue-san talk to him too, how they listen and ask and… How they notice him. If he is used to people talking and staring, never has he been noticed in such way that feels far too intrusive and yet sweetly familiar.

“Yeah yeah, enough talking more playing please,” Kurosaki growls as he settles on a chair.

Uryuu had never been to a vintage music shop before. Coming to Arisawa’s was a pleasant discovery. The smooth feel of vinyl under his fingertips, the velvety voice of a woman lulling in a mysterious language in the background, the warm, knowing smile of Arisawa’s dad behind his counter… He had felt inexplicably safe yet melancholic, engulfed in a sweet paradise lost.

But the show they put on for Uryuu, then, is the complete opposite. There’s an electricity to them, an erratic burst of colours and emotions. The performance is messy, but the spontaneity and complicity between them makes up for it and radiates such joy, such fiery energy that he suddenly feels overwhelmed. His eyes instinctively travel to Kurosaki; his back is just slightly arched, his fingers slide smoothly, his lids half-closed. Unquestionably talented and it sucks, Uryuu sighs. But before he can lament any more, Inoue-san cheers:

“Join us, Ishida-kun!”

He freezes. Only then does he realize that he’s still stupidly standing in front of the piano.

“Come on, Ishida-kun!”

“Erm… I don’t… I’m not sure…” His mouth gets dry. In truth, he’s paralyzed. He easily got a hang of the notes, of course. But if he gets in there, he thinks, he’s going to be swallowed alive by whatever force it is that animates them; their performance feels too intimate, too exclusive for him to join. He doesn’t know how to.

“Just slam whatever on the keyboard, you genius.” Ichigo’s voice is mocking. His face isn’t. “C’mon now.”

So Uryuu slams, hands unusually clumsy and stiff, and he still doesn’t know what to do.

“Just follow the flow idiot, no reason to be so stuck up.”

“He’s right, Ishida! It’s jazz, not funerals,” Arisawa winks.

Their laugh is somehow infectious. He nods and closes his eyes. He knows the chords, he just need to let go, to let go, to –  Something happens. Without any logic or rationale, he can feel the burning adrenaline twirling at the tip of his fingers, the airiness of his hands irresistibly dancing on their own.

He loves playing the piano. He can clearly remember the rainy afternoons his mother spent patiently teaching him. He loves the piano. It’s the last piece of her he has. But there’s never been something like this. Nothing this carefree, nothing this raw.

When the song ends, he’s sweating heavily.

“Couldn’t handle it eh?” Ichigo taunts. But he’s ever so slightly smiling. Inoue-san too is beaming, excitedly jumping around.

“That was incredible Ishida-kun! We must add you to the group, it sounds so much better with a piano! Right Tacchan?”

“It was certainly interesting.”

Ichigo abruptly stands then, startling everyone.

“Wait wait wait. Hold on guys. I let you bring him here because you wanted to play nice but there’s no way we’re adding him to the group. He has no swing. None. He couldn’t even play the piece well.”

Finally out of his dazed state, Uryuu jolts and rolls his eyes.

“Whatever that means, Kurosaki”. He shrugs. “Lend me this partition and I’ll be able to play it perfectly in no time. Nothing hard here”.

“You’re too cocky for your own good, Ishida.”

“Look who’s talking…”

“NO ONE ASKED TATSUKI SHUT UP – “

But that’s how Uryuu finds himself playing with them almost every day after school.  And if he’s having the most fun in a while (ever), he won’t let it show.

 

-

It’s a hot Sunday afternoon when Uryuu runs into Inoue-san in a quiet street. Her white summer dress is a graceful contrast against her slightly tanned skin and he absent-mindedly realizes that it’s the first time he sees her without her uniform. They chatter, the normal stuff: what with school, their latest gig at the wedding of Kurosaki’s family friend, the summer holidays that are coming in a week…

“That’s right, Ishida-kun!” She claps her hands, a habit when she suddenly remembers something. “Are you doing something this summer?”

He frowns. In truth, he has no idea about his father’s plans, and a heavy uneasiness latches at his belly.

“I’m not sure yet, Inoue-san. I’m probably going to stay here all summer, but…”

But it’s all up to the whims of a man who hasn’t bothered showing up for two weeks straight now, he wants to say. The crease of her eyes softens though.

“Is that so? Well, we’re all staying here too this summer and we’ve been thinking of preparing for the school festival!”

“School…festival?” He repeats dumbly. He has never settled long enough to become familiar with these kinds of events, but he imagines them crowded, noisy and perhaps fun.

“Yes! At the start of next semester! Tacchan’s dad had the idea and this really could be something fun, but we must prepare seriously!” Then, her lips purse into a pout. “Of course, only if you want to, Ishida-kun…”

 “A public performance, uh?” he whispers. Uryuu is no stranger to piano recitals. As a kid, it was his greatest pleasure to go on stage and see the glimpse of pride in his mom and grand-father’s eyes, whether he won anything or not. Sighing, he takes off his glasses and stares at the sun, eyes squinting. He nods.

“Ishida-kun… Wait, was that a yes?”

“Yes”, he replies softly and the girl in front of him is suddenly glowing.

Inoue’s piercing phone ring pulls him out of his daydream like a cold shower though.

“Yes? Kurosaki-kun? I’ve just bumped into him now, he’s already on board!”

Her voice trails at the end, excitement rising. Uryuu raises a brow at the higher pitch, but her smile, the way her eyes catch the light and sparkle, it’s all an endearing sight.

“Oh, yes, that! I almost forgot, let me ask him right now.” Phone still to her ear, she turns to Uryuu again. “The birthday of Kurosaki-kun’s sisters is in two weeks, are you free? We’re going to the seaside to celebrate!”

The uneasiness grows. He feels uncomfortably rushed, yet unnaturally stuck.

“Is it really okay for me to come?”

She makes a face.

“But of course! You’re practically family by now!”

“Okay,” he stutters, but Inoue-san’s mind is already elsewhere, too busy handling Kurosaki’s (very) obnoxious rant over the phone.

His heart sinks a little but he doesn’t know why.

 

 

 

 

(If Ishida Uryuu was honest with himself, he would admit that he does know why. It’s mellow, it’s bittersweet. Sweet kind gentle Inoue-san. Too nice for her own good, or his own for that matter. But hey, he’s not stupid. He’s seen the way she looks at HIM. Hell, he’s seen the way she listens to him, hanging on his every word and chest bombing slightly. The adoration, the anticipation every time Kurosaki says her name. He sees, and says nothing. He’s tired, oh so tired already; he won’t entertain any foolish hope.)

 

-

The beach trip is unexpectedly fun and peaceful. They’re forty minutes away from Karakura and it’s a typical scorching August day. They collect clams, play in the water (okay, this one includes Arisawa and Kurosaki trying to drown each other once, “just for fun”), all in all the usual shenanigans. It’s also interesting, seeing Ichigo interact with his younger sisters. Although twins, they are vastly different. Charming in their own ways though: Karin-chan’s cool detachment and cockiness, Yuzu-chan’s genuine sweetness. It clashes yet blends, an odd mix that screams: “things are well”. They’re barely ten and there’s something indescribable in the way they look up to their brother, in the way they tease and joke around and comfort each other by the mere presence of the others. It’s foreign and warming and he thinks Inoue-san sees it too. Throughout the day, he follows her gaze lingering, breathing in the smallest details, flickering with fondness.

When he goes home that night, his house is all grey, all the sounds faded blues.

But there’s no time for bitterness, and busy fathers, and heartbreaks.

He settles with what he has. Pauses on the rooftop. Jam sessions. Days at the beach.

 

-

The rest of the summer is surprisingly uneventful. Uryuu’s father has gone for a six-month-mission in Nagoya but has decided against all odds to let him be, here in Karakura. He won’t complain about the outcome. It allowed him to stick with Kurosaki, Arisawa and Inoue-san for one more month, shuffling between repetitions, picnics and outdoor games, a somewhat lazy but entertaining routine. Still, he’s less than six months away from graduating and, really, from leaving; it’s strange to think they might not even have a “last moment” together.

Fall comes too soon and the day of the school festival gets dangerously close too. They’re still lacking, he almost weeps. A rumour has spread all over Karakura High: a trendy indie whatever band formed by old students (he gave up listening to the specifics) is coming to town expressly for the event; the stakes are high, people are tense. It is no surprise, then, that they have been practicing harder than ever, sometimes even until late at night. But Kurosaki has been particularly stressed and just…plain weird. Overly enthusiastic. Uncharacteristically bright. The closer they get to the festival, the less he feels like himself. Whatever keeps him on edge, it’s driving them all crazy. Arisawa and Inoue-san don’t mention a thing, but their eyes are dark, shoulders down. Worse, Inoue-san seems on the verge of breaking down whenever Kurosaki, completely oblivious, talks to her.

It’s a Friday night at 9PM when Uryuu thinks she might collapse for good. His lids are heavy, the crease deepened by an apparent lack of sleep; Kurosaki has been quiet all day. So Inoue-san - sweet, kind, gentle Inoue-san - can’t take it anymore and, voice trembling, she cautiously asks:

“Is everything alright, Kurosaki-san?”

It’s then that he flashes her a huge grin and dares – he _dares_ to chuckle, coarse and low.

“Well yes, why do you ask? Well, I guess I could use a pause…”

The hollow of his voice, the hard lines of his face, the fake nonchalance he wears are enough to upset everyone in the room.  

“That’s it. Inoue-san and I are getting us some snacks”, Uryuu exclaims before he can let himself think. Before he can stop himself. He rushes to grab her hand (it’s an impulse, really) and guides her out of the house. As they step outside, both let out a heavy sigh, but she stares at him somewhat grateful. Shyly, she gives him a small smile that doesn’t reach her eyes, and they get going.

The trip is short but unbearably uncomfortable, the previous tension still lingering between them. None of them has uttered a word since they left and Uryuu can’t help but fidget awkwardly.

“Ah… Say, Inoue-san…”, he starts hesitantly. He’s not sure what he wants to tell her. He was just looking for something to fill out the silence, the void he feels growing between them. So he asks about the first thing on his mind, and that’s her relationship to Arisawa and her family. Come to think of it, he has always wondered why she was living with them, never daring to voice out his curiosity.

But she stills for a moment and he thinks fuck fuck fuck.

“I’m sorry, that was an inappropriate question. You don’t have to – “

“No, no, don’t worry Ishida-kun. It’s normal that you’d be curious.”

Her gaze is gentle and she touches his arm, the pressure just light enough to reassure him. He curses himself at that; he’s the one who should be doing the comfort thing, he’s the one who should provide her reassurance. But she’s already talking, her firm voice betrayed by the thick veil over her eyes:

“Of course, you can tell that Kurosaki-kun and I are mixed kids.” Her tongue lingers on the word. “Mom died in childbirth. Dad was stationed here and worked with Tacchan’s father when he was still in the army. When he died I had no one, so they took me in.”

She takes a pause, holds the chips bag they just bought closer to her chest. Golden locks fall on her eyes.

“They’ve been very good to me, you know. Everyone. They’re my family. You’re all my family.” She laughs, and it’s light and airy. “I know this may sound cheesy, but I don’t want to pretend I’m not a very lucky girl. You all care so much. Too much even… Did you know I used to get picked on because of my hair? But Tacchan – she would defend me every time she could. She’s incredible like that.”

There’s deep affection in her curling lips; still, Uryuu feels his heart sinking. The conditional does not escape him. His throat is dry. Fool, he curses himself. He thinks of the clear ring of her laughter, of her closed eyes and her unwavering smile and thinks: fool, fool, fool, you didn’t understand her at all. “No, you are incredible” he wants to say. He wants to hold her tight. He reaches out his hand.

“Kurosaki-kun is incredible like that too. He’s confident in who he is and takes care of his sisters. He’s strong but kind but he also keeps too much for himself. I just wish I could reach – “

She catches her tongue and blushes vividly.

“Inoue-san, you…”

“I talked so much I didn’t see the time passing, they must be waiting for us!”

She runs. He follows. It hurts. If he could pick the exact reason why, maybe it would help. But it all feels so diffused that he suddenly can’t fight the anger, doesn’t feel like fighting the anger anymore.

 

-

The same night, Uryuu lingers on the piano while the girls went upstairs already. His fingers are drawn to his mother’s favourite piece. His father would play while she would hum; it would feel sunny and carefree then, a whimsical song about lovers caught in a dream. But his father hasn’t played in ages and all Uryuu feels is unadulterated melancholy.

At the door, Kurosaki lets out a long whistle and comes down.

“Nice piece.”

Uryuu clenches his fists.

“What is it?” His voice is dry. He can’t help it. His back is turned to Kurosaki and he glares at the keys, at his fingers, not ready to face him just yet.

“You… Inoue and you have been awfully quiet since you came back. Everything okay?”

He thinks: “Is he fucking kidding me”, before standing up and walking to the door. His head is dizzy, the small room is suffocating.

“Wait, Ishida -”

“Leave me alone, won’t you? I’m not in the mood to cater to your feelings.”

Kurosaki raises his eyebrows and crosses his arms.

“What the hell? I don’t know what is it with you but don’t take it out on me, Ishida. Stop being a dick.”

At that, he snaps.

“Wouldn’t you be the bigger dick? You’re fucking dense, Kurosaki. Always here taking things for granted, getting things your way and not caring how much it affects others. A selfish asshole. That you are, Kurosaki.”

He turns around and runs as fast as he can before Kurosaki can even open his mouth. Somewhere in his mind, Uryuu knows _he_ is being an insufferable, jealousy-ridden selfish asshole. The guilt makes him angrier, though.

 

-

A pebble on his window wakes him up in the middle of the night, and he’s down to murder because finally, finally he had been able to sleep. Uryuu opens the window with unusual roughness and almost falls over when he sees Kurosaki, standing in front of his house. He’s not saying anything but his stare is filled with determination.

“Yo.”

“It’s past midnight on a Sunday Kurosaki.”

“So…really a Monday, right?”

“Go home, Kurosaki. Why are you even out?”

“Not going anywhere, Ishida.”

“Kurosaki”.

He smirks challengingly then.

“Nope”.

“Kurosaki…”

“Ishida.”

“… Fine. I’m coming.”

They end up on the house’s rooftop. The night air is cool on Uryuu’s skin but it’s a rather pleasant night, clear starry sky and cicadas buzzing.

“So”, he turns to Kurosaki who’s scowling hard, “what is the meaning of this?”

He rubs his neck awkwardly and growls.

“Say, Ishida. Why do you like rooftops?”

It takes Uryuu a moment to process the question. He gapes at the randomness.

“What do you mean?” His voice rises and he can feel himself losing his temper again. But Kurosaki’s face is grave, almost solemn, a seriousness he has never witnessed before.

“I don’t know. It’s a simple question. What is it that you see there? What makes you keep looking?”

“I’m not sure. It’s the calm, I guess. It clears my head. It’s the only kind of silence that just feels soothing.”

He colours a bit at the subtle admission, but the orange-haired boy merely nods and says nothing. His furrowed brows show he’s thinking hard, though.

“Kurosaki. What is the meaning of all this?”

“See there? Up on the hill?” He traces a finger on the horizon line. “That’s Karakura’s cemetery. Yuzu and dad insist to do a picnic there every year, it’s really weird, it’s dumb.”

“What the –”

Has Ishida ever heard of Kurosaki’s mother, now that he thinks about it?

“Oh”, he lets out. “Kurosaki…”

But he flinches, his shoulders harden. “Don’t.”

“Oh”, he whispers again. “Okay.”

Kurosaki stretches out loudly and look away, an obvious attempt at looking detached. A very failed one at that, but Uryuu lets it slide. He lets him get away with it.

“Boring story, really. Daughter of an American soldier. When she and dad got married, both of their families cut all ties so it was only the five of us. It’s not…” He breathes deeply and turn to Uryuu. His eyes are piercing. “Look, I’ve already said too much and really I - I just want you know that I don’t take things for granted. I don’t. I know I can be dense but I just – “

“I get it, Kurosaki.”

Uryuu’s face softens, somehow, and he laughs. He bursts out, and it’s husky and hearty and an odd way to let go. They’re just the same, he admits to himself reluctantly. Kurosaki stops and gauges his face, lips tight and gaze wary at first. He gradually relaxes though.

“Good”, he declares and slowly leans against the roof.

“Still,” Uryuu finally says as he catches his breath, “you have to admit how incredible it is. You know. How inconsiderate your way of being considerate is.”

“Shut up,” he snarls back, but it clearly lacks the usual sentiment. “I get it, okay?”

Uryuu makes a face. “Do you, though?” And before he can get away with whatever “witty” comeback he has in store, he adds: “Why do you like rooftops, Kurosaki?”

“I don’t”, he replies defensively, and Uryuu’s eyes grow huge. “Don’t give me that face. You asked and I answered.  Don’t give me that face, I said! You’re freaking me out. The view is nice and all though. Ishida, enough. It’s like you think I would hesitate to hit you…”

Unbothered, Uryuu scoffs with disdain: “It’s a simple question”.

His wicked smile, the ultimate satisfaction of throwing his own words back at him, it pushes Kurosaki to grunt in defeat. “You’re an anal freak alright. Fine. I don’t particularly like rooftops, okay?” He starts fidgeting erratically. “But she did. And I’m here. And she’s coming to the school festival okay.” He yells all that out in barely one breath and hangs his head low, bright crimson creeping at his neck and ears.

“She?”, Uryuu repeats carefully, prompting the red to blaze even brighter.

“Three years ago, when mom died, I was in a ditch, okay?” The bare vulnerability Kurosaki lets shown, his usually mature traits suddenly a boyish mess, it all startles Uryuu. He’s not sure what emotion he sees on his face – or, rather, cannot believe the emotion he reads all over him right now.

“But she got me out of that ditch…And now she’s coming back.”

The remaining tension in their shoulders seems to have vanished and after what feels like a while, Uryuu lets out a yawn.

“You should probably go. Must be 2AM for god’s sake.”

Standing at his front door, Kurosaki smirks.

“By the way, apologies accepted.”

“ _Apologies accepted”_ , he snarls back. “Douchebag.”

 

-

They’re the last to go on stage. The crowd of students is buzzing with anticipation, the rumbling of their feet echoing backstage ready to swallow them all. Inoue-san and Arisawa (despite her claims) are looking pale; they’re holding hands and trying out (despite Arisawa’s sceptical side-eye) some breathing exercises together. To be fair, Uryuu himself can feel his palms sweat. Still, none of them can top the apprehension and sharp edge emanating from Kurosaki. He’s been back to his normal self ever since that night but at the moment, all Uryuu sees is the lost, sheepish boy who confided in him.

“Is she –”

“Dunno.” Kurosaki starts to jump around, to crack his knuckles, to stare intently at the ceiling.

“Never thought I’d see the day you shit your pants, Kurosaki.” Inoue and Arisawa cannot hold in a giggle.

“The hell? You’re the one shaking like there’s no tomorrow.”

Inoue-san tugs at his arm then, her loving smile easing the strained atmosphere.

“It’s our last festival after all. And Ishida-kun’s first one too!”, she says. “I’m glad we could spend it together.”

A contagious smile spreads at their lips; they look at the small circle they’re forming right now. A feeling of contentment settles between them, warm like a ray of sun on their day at the beach.

“Anyways, you better match your skills with your fat mouth Ishida.” Kurosaki teases with his usual bravado back and gold sparkling in his eyes.

“Like it’d be hard to outshine you?” he snaps back challengingly.

“I’m in for the competition too!” Arisawa announces. “Like I could leave it to you to impress anyone here. Boys…” she says with faked disdain.

“IT’S ON TATSUKI BRING IT ON”

When Inoue-san walks up to the stage first, vivid lights shine on her pink dress. She’s an Irish rose blooming on the scene and her graceful figure makes Uryuu’s heart skip a beat.

“Hello, we’re the Karakura Revival and this is a jazz medley. Enjoy!”

Uryuu’s head goes blank as he settles on his piano. The crowd is pitch dark, and all he can see is the band, the collective exhalation, Kurosaki staring straight at him knowingly. He grazes a white key and lets the music enfold.

The memory will forever be engraved in his mind. In retrospect, Uryuu even fears never being able to feel anything like this again. As the sounds clash and come together, their bodies melt in electricity, an infuriating rhythm toying their limbs. He feels young, he feels bare, he’s a lion on the prowl. He feels untamed and brilliantly unstoppable. Maybe the closest way to describe the overpowering sensation would be this: a strange mixture of elation and the desire for it to never end, a willingness for the music to take over him completely. And he knows they feel it too.

They don’t battle it out. They’re fighting alongside each other, marching to their own rhythm.

 

-

They’re still drunk on adrenaline and the fuzzy warmth of the crowd cheering when they exit the stage, but it only lasts for one more minute. Eyes fixed on the backdoor, Kurosaki stiffens and pales. A collective roar reverberates in the gymnasium, the sea of crowd splitting in two to make way for three tall shadows of white, red and navy blue. Each step quick and assured, they match the rhythm of the escalating whispers, of the buzzing excitement.

The three men stop at the edge of the scene, right in front of them. Inoue-san gasps, Arisawa lets out an impressed whistle, but Kurosaki is a wall.

“Yo, Ichigo! It’s been a while” a man with long, crimson hair grins. He wears a leather jacket and tattoos all over his face, neck and arms and Uryuu cannot help but think: “tacky rock star”. But a small smile finds its way to Kurosaki’s face and he holds out his hand.

“About time you guys showed up.”

To Uryuu, the scene feels surreal. It’s not the obvious familiarity, the handshakes and the hugs and the wild laughter, he reasons, although there’s definitely a history he’s curious about here. But rather, the peculiar sight of Kurosaki with all his brashness, scowling face and bright hair, not being the one who stands out for once. Indeed, besides the red-haired over-tattooed man, his two companions would give him a run for his money. The first one has an impossibly tanned skin and thick, wavy hair; he’s also tall enough for Uryuu to suspect he might be _at least_ part giant. In comparison, the second one looks rather tame, apart from his light blonde bob hair and three-day stubble; the getas and colourful coat he adorns, though, add to the whimsical effect. Standing together, they exude an exoticism that would, in any other place, draw whispers, curious stares or worse: suspicion. But as they are now, just keeping to the keenness of their comradery, everyone can’t help but marvel at the intensity they give off.

It’s then that tentatively, almost shyly, Kurosaki asks: “Renji. Where is Rukia?”

The sudden hint of bashfulness, the left hand rubbing at his neck, it does not escape Uryuu. Nor does it escape the red-haired man apparently, as he smirks knowingly.

“Eh, who knows. She left early, she’s probably sneaking somewhere around here –”

“I’m just right here, thank you Renji,” a low, husky voice interrupts from the back. They all turn to the stage. A short woman stands behind the microphone, lips pursed and arms crossed impatiently.

“Now can you save the reunion for later? We have a show and people are waiting,” she drawls as she sets her silver bass guitar ready. “And don’t “yada-yada” at me Kisuke, don’t you dare!”

Clearly entertained, the boys wink at Kurosaki and join her on stage, leaving Uryuu (and everyone else, really) to wonder what the hell this was all about. He can’t ask anything right away though: staring at the stage, Kurosaki looks as if he couldn’t hear – wouldn’t see anyone but the band in front of him. Standing in full force, they burst with fun and oddity and anachronic mismatches. Just like everything related to the orange-haired boy, he remarks with slight amusement.

“Hello, we are Karakura’s Midnight Military. Feels good to be home. I hope you enjoy our little show!”

 

-

Hours after the festival has ended, Uryuu is wandering around the empty hallways, looking for Kurosaki. Weariness latches at the small of his back, melodies replay on his mind.

“Midnight Military”, they call themselves: a band of “non-conforming ex-Karakura high schoolers who channelled the distress of alienation into wittily relatable lyrics and an irresistibly fluorescent jazzy sound dotted with the harshness of its explosive bass drive”, as generously painted by the president of their local fan-club, an uncontrollably hyper Asano Keigo. “Well that’s how Rockin'On Japan described them anyways! They’ve been performing non-stop at music festivals for the past two years and they already got noticed! Trust me, I give them a year or two to sign with a major label…” he had explained before trying to jump on the stage and getting violently shoved off by Rukia.

Ah, the famous Rukia. As the founder, singer and bassist of the group (and probably a thousand of other things Keigo had listed with extreme precision but Uryuu couldn’t be bothered to remember), she commanded an almost unrivalled aura on stage – quite a feat when surrounded by guys at least twice her size. His chest tightens a bit as Uryuu remembers her cool gaze piercing through the crowd, her deep voice singing of unwanted promises, her dreaded fickleness and the longing to meet her lover at a place where morning doesn’t come.

But if she left a big impression on him, no words are enough to describe the state she left the one she was staring back at. In truth, it’s not even that Kurosaki is visibly distressed, upset or overwhelmed. During and after the show, he just stayed quiet and _watched_. But it’s the dumb and uncharacteristically soft expression he wore as he stayed quiet and watched her dance in her black coat that’s so...unnerving. Uryuu finds himself back on his rooftop, facing a sheepish boy so different and yet so uncomfortably mirroring himself.

Maybe it’s procuration then, maybe it’s selfless concern, but he feels like he needs to know something, like he needs to be the witness of something, and that’s how he finds himself lingering at school and looking for his stupid friend.

As he passes by the 3-B classroom, he hears a familiar voice sobbing and dashes to the door almost immediately. There they are, sitting at the back of the room, Arisawa’s arms holding her protectively.

“Inoue-san…”, he murmurs, the name a sour taste on his tongue.

Instantly, she jolts up and puts her hands to her eyes. “Oh, Ishida-kun… I didn’t know you were still –”

Amidst the furious flow of her justifications, Uryuu catches Arisawa’s eyes and nods knowingly.

“I am here, yes. May I… sit with you?” he asks softly.

Her face lightens up a bit and she moves over to make space for him, her hand patting the floor as to say “come, come”. Sweet, kind, gentle Inoue. They sit together in silence. Inoue-san’s head lays on Arisawa’s shoulder, her eyes firmly closed. There’s so much of Kurosaki that he keeps to himself or, rather, hidden to them, and Uryuu can actually feel the tightening burden that has settled in their chests. It’s weird, discovering a whole new side of someone you thought you had figured out. An icy reminder, but important nonetheless.

“Kurosaki-kun probably left with his friends now. I’m sure they had a lot of catching up to do”, she says after a while, teeth sinking deep into the lip. But there are footsteps outside and they’re getting louder. The door is pushed wide open.

“There you are! I figured you’d be here.”

There’s such a stark contrast then, between Kurosaki’s flamboyant mood and the pitiful party in front of him, that he instinctively takes a step back.

“What the hell… Everything alright here? Did something happen?”

Ultimately, this is a day of celebration, Uryuu muses. The earlier exhilaration is not too far gone. He smirks and declares: “We’re just taking a break, as you should, Kurosaki. You look like a woodland creature.”

Arisawa’s clear laugh reverberating through the room is enough to warm up the atmosphere, even when the gibe got Kurosaki scowling.

“Give me a break Ishida.” He settles next to them.

“Can you blame him though? While Mr Kurosaki was hanging around superstars!” Arisawa joins in the teasing.

“First, we barely hung out and they’re already going back. Second, come on, Tats. They hardly qualify as superstars”.

“Whatever. How come you never told me you were close to the senpais anyways?”

The spike of hurt rings too true to be passed off as a joke, and Kurosaki is faced with three curious pairs of eyes drilling holes in his head. He blushes.

“Ah, yeah, that…  It’s not that big of a deal. Rukia is a moody freak and she just decided to teach me how to “master” playing bass. She’s very insane. I did a few gigs with them but nothing serious…” Uryuu doesn’t know if he’s more fascinated by the strange familiarity with which he says that name or by the non-explanation explanation.

“You played with Kuchiki-senpai?” Inoue-san all but shouts her first words since Kurosaki entered the room. He rubs his neck and looks away.

“There’s nothing to it, alright. I was with them for barely two months before they graduated and left for Tokyo. They were planning to go professional long before that and I had just started high school. Well, kinda…”

“You could have told us before making a second-hand rehash band though…” Arisawa groans. It’s the first time Uryuu has ever seen her upset, he realizes; with her arms crossed and glowering eyes, she’s all angles and hard lines. But Kurosaki chuckles and pokes her forehead.

“Don’t be stupid. We had fun today. And we were good.” She’s about to retort something but Kurosaki is smiling, and the world nearly slows down. It’s an honest smile, far from the scowls and the pouts and the customary cocky grins; a smile of pure contentment. Her shoulders relax in a relieved breath. They’re suddenly covered in the same fuzzy warmth that kept them close together before getting on stage.

“Even you Ishida.”

“Oh, come on. Give me a break.”

 

-

The end of the school year is coming and along with it is the string of college exams. They hang around in Arisawa’s room after class – to study, she insists every time, going as far as to lock the door to the basement: “no distraction!”

“Since when do you even want to go to uni?” Kurosaki cries out one day, high-strung from the unsolicited cold turkey (and all his complaints and bargaining being coolly brushed aside). She raises an eyebrow:

“Since when don’t you?”

“Eh. I don’t know. I might just get a real job or something. Not like my family could afford another year of supporting me anyways.” He lays down on the ground and closes his eyes. “I’m never giving up on music, though.”

Uryuu scoffs at that. “Now you’re being unreasonable. Don’t listen to him Arisawa, Inoue-san. Let’s keep on studying.” But his eyes are still fixed on Kurosaki’s.

Afterwards, as they walk side by side on their way home, Uryuu inhales deeply and stops.

“So, what’s your plan?”

“What plan?”, he pretends to be taken aback. Uryuu is having none of it, though. He crosses his arms impatiently.

“I know you have one. Don’t even bother denying it Kurosaki.”

It’s then that he sighs, long and hard, before rubbing his neck.

“Look, I really don’t know, okay? I’ve just been thinking about stuff and… I got to find something, right? With your grades, you’re getting into the best universities. Tatsuki and Inoue have been working their asses off ever since they decided to become teachers. And I’m just stuck here wondering about what I want to do…”

His resigned look is unfitting, Uryuu decides.

“You’re not being very honest with yourself if you’re still wondering about what you want, Kurosaki.” There’s a slight edge to his voice, but it’s just enough to wake him up. He might not have completely figured Kurosaki out, but he’ll be damned if he hasn’t figured _that_ out.

For a few seconds, the orange-haired boy stares in disbelief. Uryuu’s smug knowing look is enough to make him growl loudly.

“Oh come on. You don’t understand. It’s not that simple. I wanted to the first time and she shoved me off. I told her again last time. That I would come. She keeps on saying I don’t know what I’m getting into…”

“She does care for you,” Uryuu nods understandingly. “She doesn’t want you to make a choice you’ll regret.”

 “But that’s so fucking stupid! The choice is made already! Hell, we both made that choice three years ago, the minute she decided to bring me along and –” Kurosaki turns a red so bright steam practically leaks off his pores. He drops and hides his face between his knees.

“Fuck you, Ishida,” he mumbles as Uryuu lets out a hearty (sadistic) laugh.

“At least it’s settled then. Don’t worry, I’ll take that as a thank you.”

He doesn’t have the time to catch his breath when Kurosaki starts running after him. They run and run like they are ten again, and finally Uryuu understands with clarity what he’s always seen. What this means to him, to them.  

On the third day of the Christmas break, he calls him at 5AM.

“Yo, Kurosaki. Have you ever been to Tokyo?”

“What the hell – No – It’s 5AM –”

 “Okay. Hurry up, we have a gift for you.”

 

-

The trip isn’t nearly as chaotic as Uryuu had planned.

If everyone is understandably overexcited, no catastrophes big enough occur throughout the day to resort to the book of emergency solutions preciously tucked in his satchel. In fact, Kurosaki, Arisawa and Inoue-san are so eager to discover every single thing about the city that they’re ready to comply with his painstakingly timed planning with an unexpected easiness. As they stop at Asakusa, the temple bustling with its vibrant colours, Uryuu sighs and silently thanks the gods for hearing his (many, many) prayers.

Then it’s the Ginza subway, the frenzy of people and their comings and goings everywhere, and Inoue-san letting out a curious “oh” at every stop. It’s a strange feeling, looking at a city he has known through the fresh eyes of his friends. It’s humbling and warm. It’s not about the sights to see, he muses; Tokyo itself is a sight to see.

Shibuya leaves the biggest impression on Arisawa and Kurosaki. The place is all neon lights and buzzing energy. If this place was a sound, it would be electric. As they get swallowed by the crowd of trendy teens, the orange-haired boy takes a breath in. They wear extravagant outfits and effortless detachment; with his studded belt, bold sweater and tight pants, he kind of fits, Uryuu grins. Then it’s visiting the shops, stopping for snacks – a lot of snacks, Inoue-san’s plea -, wide tree-lined streets and avant-garde museums. Through their crazily tight schedule, they still manage to spend an hour digging through the vinyl’s of the HMV Record Shop (the last twenty minutes spent fighting over the 1957 masterpiece “A Blowin’ Session” – Arisawa had to separate Uryuu and Kurosaki, at the same time snatching the record for herself...). By the end of the day, as they watch the evening fall from the 52nd floor of the Mori Tower, no one can feel their legs anymore.

“We should go back to the hotel now. I’m dead,” Kurosaki yawns as they come down.

“Yeah, about that, Ichigo… We still have one place to go,” Arisawa winks mischievously.

“What – Wait, why is Ishida grinning like a mad man? What are you guys planning –”

They arrive at a small, private bar. Kurosaki raises an eyebrow as Uryuu mentions “being on the list”, almost drops his jaw when Uryuu hands out some obviously fake IDs, and nearly passes out when the bouncer lets them in.

“What. The. Fuck. Ishida.”

But before Uryuu can say anything, a familiar blonde bob pops up and calls out his name. Still adorning his getas and a lime traditional coat, he almost runs to greet them.

“My favourite spectators are heeere! I’m glad you managed to all come! Tessai didn’t make any fuss, did he?”

“No, he didn’t. Thank you again, Urahara-san.”

“Well you should get to your table; the show is about to start!”

He winks at them as he leaves. Kurosaki says nothing, but his stare drills holes in Uryuu’s back.

The room is cosy and dimly lit, the atmosphere not unlike some old jazz halls. As they settle on their assigned table, right in front of the scene, Kurosaki snarls.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing Ishida?”

“Calm down, Ichigo. And it’s not just Ishida.” Arisawa’s voice is steady. “Well, technically it was his idea. He did pay your ticket too. And mine. And Inoue’s. Okay he paid for a lot of things and I’m digressing. I’m the one who called Kisuke-senpai though!”  

“Stop meddling with my life. This is none of your business.” He clutches his fists impatiently.

“Stop being a child, Kurosaki.” Uryuu stares back at Ichigo, not letting any sign of backing down shown. “We’ve been over this already.”

“He’s right Ichigo. Stop being so stubborn and let’s get the job done. We had fun today. And this – this is _great_.”

Red colours at his neck, nervousness latches at his shoulders. He’s about to say something, to snarl something again but Inoue-san stops him as she smiles:

“This is not about meddling with your life, Kurosaki-kun. We’re just trying hard – we’re trying to care.” In truth, it’s the first time Uryuu sees her like this. Her eyes unwavering and voice filled with resolve, it sends shivers to the small of his back.

“This was a wonderful day and it’s still going to be, Kurosaki-kun. You should trust us a bit more.”

As his face softens, the entire room but the stage goes pitch black. A familiar voice rises from the dark.

“Hello, we are the Midnight Military, up for another sleepless night. Enjoy!”

As Rukia’s husky chant urges a lover to remember the present and to live on, Uryuu’s smile grows wider.

 

-

They linger at Urahara-san’s after the show, a charming flat not nearly big enough to welcome so many people.

It’s past 3AM and Uryuu’s head is getting heavy, but he likes the light-heartedness and the genuine joyfulness that radiates in the room. He feels grown-up; he feels welcome. Armed with chopsticks and two or three bowls, Arisawa is determined to defeat Abarai-kun on the drums, the red-haired man too intoxicated to bother hiding his enchanted smile. Inoue-san and Sado-kun are playing with the gigantic man’s furry pets; it was quite unexpected to witness this huge, intimidatingly bulky man secretly fond of cute rabbits. There’s a dark veil to Inoue-san’s eyes though, one that sinks Uryuu’s heart. Some things cannot be helped.

As he heads to the toilets, two quiet voices stop him in the hallway. Unsure of himself, he holds his breath and gets closer to the door on his right, silently cursing himself for acting like this. He peeks through the slightly open door. They stand together against the wall, inches far too close for it to mean nothing.

“I like your dress.”

“It’s a boring white dress.”

“It looks pretty on you.”

Kurosaki takes a step closer, his fingers slipping at the hem of her dress.

“That song you just –”                       

“You like it too?” Uryuu can see her playful smirk in the dark of the room.

But he answers matter-of-factly, almost sheepishly: “I do, yes. You wrote it for me.” His hand rises to her shoulder, the nape of her neck, to her cheek. She holds him closer to her face.

“We wrote it together, Ichigo.” There’s a subtle shakiness in her voice. She closes her eyes, leans back on the wall.

“We make a good team.”

“You certainly were a good bassist. Better than me.”

“We make a good team, _Rukia_.” Her name is a quiet mantra on his tongue. And just like that, just as quietly, she rises and closes the distance between them:

“We make a good team”.

Suddenly hyperaware of the intimacy of it all, Uryuu turns a bright red, ashamed of having intruded such a moment.

“I’m sticking with you,” is the last thing he hears as he walks away.

 

-

It’s almost 6AM and they’re running for their lives to catch their train.

“Fourth dock, fourth dock, fourth dock come on… FORTH DOCK ON THE RIGHT GO GO GO!” Arisawa’s voice echoes through the train station, earning them some sharp glares. It’s not like any of them could care as they’re busy dashing to their train and getting in, though. Kurosaki stops at the door as Rukia-san, who was trailing behind, catches him. The radiance in his smile would almost be heart-warming if not for the cockiness.

“Don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone!”

“Fat chance,” she yells before proceeding to catch his lips, turning him into a burning bright crimson and shoving him inside the train. Uryuu and Arisawa cannot hold a chuckle.

They can still make out her waving figure as the dock starts to disappear into the horizon.

 

-

The return back home is quiet, their wagon almost empty. An hour into the trip, Uryuu and Inoue-san stand up to go buy some warm teas (they’re a bit expensive so the others refused but at this point, his throat is so dry and his head so heavy that he might as well pass out). As he orders on the vending machine, Inoue-san smiles gently. Her eyes aren’t as sad as they were back at the apartment but still, there’s a disheartening soberness to them. He knows – he knows.

“Thank you for yesterday, Ishida-kun.”

He laughs nervously, fingers fidgeting on the can he just bought. It’s pleasantly warm.

“I did nothing, really. I just hope you all had fun.”

“It was a really nice trip, Ishida-kun. I really really had a lot of fun.”

Her eyes are heavy. Her smile fades into a small curve.

“Inoue-san, about Kuro –”

“I have always known. There was always something.” Her hands rest on her shaking shoulders, as if to hold herself together. “I love the peace of Karakura. It’s comforting. It feels like home. But he never suited it. Karakura has never been sharp enough.”

The dam starts breaking and there are tears rolling over her cheeks.

“It was very nice of you to do that for him. Almost for us?” His hands rise to her shoulders, pressing gently. “You’re an amazing friend Ishida-kun.”

Then she really starts to sob. She cries and cries and he holds her in his arms. The rare passer-byes stop and stare, but still, he won’t let go.

They stay like this until they get home.

 

-

It’s late in March and the air is filled with the fresh scent of green and blooming flowers. They stand nearby the platform 4 and Yuzu-chan and Kurosaki’s father are ugly-crying.

“My son! My only son! Leaving us too fast! Leaving us so soon!”

Karin-chan shrugs.

“Geez, dad. He’s not dying.”

“Right. And come on, Yuzu. I’ll be three hours away. That’s nothing!” He pats her head gently. “I’ll be home for almost every holiday.”

“You better bring Rukia-chan with you then!” she replies between two sobs, startling her brother and prompting him to redden from head to toe. While everyone else burst into laughter, he glares at his friends accusingly.

“That’s all on her, Ichigo. Apparently, your sisters know things.” Arisawa’s wicked smile sends him to burn.

“Stop conspiring against me and let this die already, will you? You all need to grow up.” His scowl lacks the usual crankiness. His shoulders are relaxed; it’s all light-hearted goodbyes.

After he hugs his sisters and tries to escape his father’s “very manly Kurosaki-style hug”, he turns to Uryuu.

“Well, this is goodbye, Kurosaki,” he says and holds out his hand.

“Mate. We’re literally seeing each other in Tokyo. We’ll live two blocks away from each other. Stop being so formal and again, I’m not dying oh my god -”

“Kurosaki-kun!” Inoue-san calls out, panting. Her cheeks are tinged pink from the sprint she just took, her hair dishevelled. In an almost out-of-character rush of boldness, she grabs Kurosaki by the arm and drags a little further, just enough to be far away from curious ears.

Kurosaki’s father lets out a long whistle. “Oh oh oh”. The jolt that shakes Arisawa is almost a natural response, it’s instinctual protectiveness. Uryuu knows; he felt it too. His hand falls on her shoulder. They share a knowing look. In truth, this is a kind of “we’re going to be alright” reassurance; a promise, a contract.

He watches as Inoue-san murmurs something and Kurosaki’s eyes go wide. He drops to his knees and bows, again and again. But all she does is laugh and help him stand up. Her face is beaming.

As the train rings its immediate departure, Uryuu catches Kurosaki’s eyes once again.  “Get going”, he mouths at the window. “Idiot.”

“Anal freak,” he mouths back.

Inoue settles next to Ishida and watches the train disappear. Their fingers graze.

“You two take care of each other”, she murmurs. “God knows I can’t count on Kurosaki-kun to write me something but you better do, Ishida-kun.”

“Sure thing,” he says.

“And come back for a gig once in a while!”

He turns to look at her then. Sweet, kind, gentle Inoue-san. Her newly short hair frame her face in a pleasant way, highlighting her big eyes and the small dot on her bare neck. They share a genuine smile.

“Sure thing, Orihime.”


End file.
